Jesus’ words today from John’s gospel have been beckoning me all week. “As the Father has loved me, so I have loved you; abide in my love…I have said these things to you so that my joy may be in you, and that your joy may be complete…You are my friends…You did not choose me but I chose you.” These are words that our weary souls need to hear. We long for the wide, open embrace of God, the unconditional acceptance, the assurance that everything will be okay. Jesus’ words today are a warm blanket we crawl into and wrap around ourselves, draping over our feelings of sadness, loneliness, doubt, insecurity, and uncertainty. Jesus’ invitation to abide in his love is the fulfillment of every longing, aching need in our lives, and today Jesus offers that love freely, abundantly, joyfully, completely.

For some of here today, that is your sermon: Jesus loves you, chooses you, befriends you, and completes your joy. The humbling, overwhelming love of God invites you into that warm blanket, and you do not need to speak – just accept the gift and abide with God this week.[i]

For others of us, we may be a little too hardened to fully receive the invitation to abide in God’s love. I used to serve with a priest whose main sermon, no matter what the text, was God loves us. She said those words so often I remember I would sometimes stop listening. My cynical self would start the diatribe, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. God is love.” The problem for many of us is love has failed us. We have been in love, been loved by family or friends, or even have felt God’s love. But we have also been hurt, rejected, or felt abandoned by all those parties. And if we feel the failure of love too often, “Abide in my love,” sounds too shallow to have meaning, too romantic to last, too wonderful to be sustained.

For those of us who might roll our eyes at the saccharine nature of love we have experienced in the world, we may need a different sermon today. Part of our challenge is we have defined love in such a way that we will be disappointed every time. We watch movies, read books, even gaze at couples in those first dreamy weeks of new love, and think we know what love is. Love becomes two people who agree all the time, who are always able to look lovingly at another never noticing imperfections, who never experience conflict, and who are always happy. And if that is our expectation of love, we will always be disappointed. For those of us in this camp, our sermon today is to redefine love.

A few years ago, Paul and Lucy were such a couple. They had a romantic beginning – meeting in medical school, Paul was funny, smart, and playful. As they built a life together, they began to dream and to plan. When Paul finished his 90-hour workweek rotations, and life got back to normal, they would try to have a baby. Everything was perfect – at least everything was perfect if you did not look too closely. And then Paul got the diagnosis – a cancer that would give him two more years of life. And suddenly everything changed. Lucy’s life began to become about taking care of Paul, walking him through treatments, holding him in pain. And Paul’s life became about making sure Lucy could enjoy life beyond him. At one point, Paul assured Lucy he wanted her to remarry after he died. The two even agreed to have that baby they had been planning. Lucy worried having a child would make dying worse for Paul. “Don’t you think that saying goodbye to a child would make your death more painful?” she asked Paul. He replied, “Wouldn’t it be great if it did?”[ii]

What Paul and Lucy show us is love is not some sappy, sentimentalized emotion best captured by a romantic comedy with a great soundtrack. Love is beautiful not because love is perfect, pretty, polished. Love is beautiful because love is “all in,” ready for the ugliness of life, willing to take on pain and suffering and see that pain as a blessing. Of course, Jesus describes love in the same way in today’s gospel lesson if we are paying attention. We find ourselves so tarrying in the comforting love language and we sometimes miss the other love language in the text. “Keep my commandments…love one another as I have loved you…lay down one’s life for one’s friends…go and bear fruit, fruit that will last.” Jesus shows us what love looks like throughout his life. He kneels down and tenderly washes the dirty, worn feet of his companions. He accepts and welcomes adulterers, oppressors, and outcasts of every kind. He loves and forgives, even when betrayed by his closest friends. He gives up his life in the most gruesome, humiliating way. Jesus’ love is not pretty or polished. But Jesus’ love is profound.

That kind of love is the kind of love that drove most of us to Hickory Neck. Maybe we came thinking we wanted a perfect, polished, pretty loving community that would make us feel loved too. And many times, Hickory Neck is just that. But other times we find a different kind of love at Hickory Neck – a love that stands by us when spouses die, when marriages fail, and when children stumble into dark places; a love that stands by us when diagnoses come, when tragedy strikes, and when sinfulness overcomes us; a love that stands by us when we disagree, when we hurt one another, and when we fail to meet each other’s expectations. That kind of love sits next to us when we cry, even when no words are exchanged; that kind of love receives awful news and is able to simply say, “this is awful,”; that kind of love prays for us even when we do not realize we are receiving or need prayer. The love we often find at Hickory Neck may seem to others to be messy, imperfect, and even difficult. But the love we find at Hickory Neck is much more akin to the kind of love that mimics God’s love for us, that lays down our lives for one another.

The challenge for us today is in four tiny words from Jesus, “Go and bear fruit.” Both the unconditional blanket of Christ’s love and the messy, ugly, beautiful love of Christ are for us today. But that gift of love becomes fullest when shared. We practice that sharing of love every week here at Hickory Neck – with the people we like, and even the people we may not like as much. But our practicing is preparation for sharing that love beyond these walls – with the family member who drives us crazy, with the neighbor whose annoying habits reveal a lack of love, with the stranger who makes us uncomfortable. Now, you may go home today and start thinking to yourself, or your friend might say to you, or even Satan himself may start asking you, “Yeah, but won’t that kind of love hurt? Won’t you be risking pain and hurt by giving that kind of love?” Today, Jesus invites you to say, “Wouldn’t it be great if it did?” Amen.

I grew up in a house without conflict. No one ever fought, no one ever yelled, and certainly, no one ever hit. There may have been disagreements, but they were quickly resolved and our house was restored to peace. Given that was my experience growing up, I assumed all family handled conflict in hushed, quiet ways. But then I visited a friend who taught me differently. I was staying with her family for a few days, and on a car ride to dinner, her mother and father started arguing and were quickly yelling at each other in the front seat. My eyes bulged and my whole body tensed up. I immediately thought, “This is the most horrible thing I have ever seen!” I surreptitiously glanced at my friend to see if she was equally horrified, but she just sat there like it was an everyday occurrence. But even more strange than the fight was how the family acted later. There was a bit of quiet after the yelling, but by the time we stopped for dinner, everyone was back to normal. I, however, could not manage to release the tension in my body, and my mind was racing. Are they okay? Is this normal? Will it happen again? How do I act now?

I remember after that visit feeling relieved and almost proud. Clearly my family had the better conflict management system. Clearly we were more in control of our emotions and cared for each other with tenderness and love. I let myself believe that lie until my parent’s divorce. My entire world view about conflict and family and love came apart. Suddenly my quiet house was not simply quiet. My quiet house was a conflict avoidant house. The lack of yelling in my house was not simply a lack of yelling, but was a stuffing of hurt and pain for the sake of pretend peace. Now, do not get me wrong. I am not suggested that you all go home and yell at your loved ones. What I am saying is that no matter what your experience of conflict has been – avoidance, dramatic confrontation, reasoned discussion through disagreement – we have all experienced conflict in our family.

All that is to say that nothing Jesus says about families should be shocking today. Most of us like the loving, caring, gentle Jesus the best. We like Jesus being hailed as the Prince of Peace, not hearing Jesus say, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”[i] That is not the version of Jesus we come to hear about on Sundays. That is not the version of Jesus we want to read about when our best friend is mad at us, our brother won’t talk to us, or our spouse is thinking about leaving. That is not the version of Jesus we want the preacher talking about on the Sunday we decided to bring our friend to church.

And normally, I would be right there with you in protest. I like the Prince of Peace who cares for the poor and downtrodden. I love the Jesus who tells me not to be afraid and not to worry, especially when the lilies of the field are so well tended by God. I adore the Jesus who forgives and unites all kinds of people into one. But all of my protest comes from being someone who used to be pretty conflict avoidant. That is, until I learned another way. I will always say that one of the greatest gifts of my time on Long Island was learning how to not only handle conflict, but to really appreciate conflict for all that conflict can do.

For those of you not familiar with the cultural dynamic of Long Island, several things are at play. First, Long Islanders have a different way of communicating. They are direct, incisive, and honest. For a Southerner, their style of communication can feel rude, but over time, said Southerner realizes that all that directness and ability to dive into conflict means you get everything out on the table. There is no listening for innuendo or passive aggressiveness. There are no cute phrases that sound nice, but really mean something entirely different. Instead, you know where people stand, and you go home quite clear about the varying viewpoints. Of course, that style of communication does not always feel good. If you have sensitive feelings about criticism, your feelings can and will get hurt. If you get uncomfortable with heated arguments, you will be challenged to stay calm. If you prefer niceness over brutal honesty – well, you probably should not live on Long Island.

But here is what I learned and came to love about the beautiful people of Long Island. They taught me how to listen, even if all I wanted to do was flee the room. They taught me how to sit through criticism instead of getting defensive. They taught me how to see conflict not as the ultimate evil, but instead as a critical key to transformation, reconciliation, and restoration.

That is at the heart of Jesus’ message today. Of course Jesus says that he is going to divide fathers and sons, mothers and daughters, and in-laws against one another. What Jesus is teaching about is a radical reordering of the world.[ii] We heard that proclamation from his mother’s mouth as she sang out the words of the Magnificat earlier in Luke’s gospel, “He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”[iii] Mary was not just talking about the enemy Rome. Many of the Israelites themselves were proud, powerful, and rich. We in the modern world are the proud, powerful, and rich. And to us, Jesus shouts, “Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division!”

The good news is that Jesus is not telling us he wants us to fight. He is not encouraging violence or abuse, or even neglect or pain. Jesus is simply telling us that his message is going to upset the status quo. And as people who benefit from the status quo, we are going to have to face our demons and look at our brothers and sisters who are in need and take real stock of ourselves and our lives. And when we start upsetting the status quo – when we start making women equal to men, when we start treating minorities with dignity and respect, when we start empowering the poor thrive and turn their lives around, we will have friends and family who push back. We will have people who try to convince us to protect our power rather than share our power. We will have family who walk away because they cannot face the truth. All we have to do is look at the church – look at the hundreds of denominations who could not agree on whom could be baptized, what Eucharist means, and whom can be ordained or married. We are a family divided because Jesus’ love is so revolutionary that we will be divided about how to define his love, how to share his love, and how receive his love. Jesus does not want us to fight. But he knows that if we are going to authentically live into the Gospel life, we are going to deal with conflict and we are going to be divided.[iv]

But that is also why Jesus went all the way to the cross. His death was an effort to transform and redeem our conflict and to help us live fully into the people of peace and love we are invited to be in him. Jesus knows that we will have to fight. But he also knows that if we are willing to enter into conflict with an open mind, with listening ears, and a discerning heart, we will become a people who do not avoid conflict, but understand conflict as the purifying fire that burns away the mess of life and leaves behind the fertile ground for creating something new and holy.[v] So yes, Jesus is still the Prince of Peace, who brings peace upon earth. But the path there is not a smooth, straight, simple path. The path there will take us through conflict, tension, and pain. But the peace that awaits on the other side is more glorious than any community that will sit through passive aggressive avoidance just to maintain a false sense of security.

And just in case you are already feeling weary, wondering where you can muster the strength to survive such a rocky path, our letter to the Hebrews today gives us a clue, “Since we are surrounded by so great a cloud of witnesses, let us also lay aside every weight and the sin that clings so closely, and let us run with perseverance the race that is set before us, looking to Jesus the pioneer and perfecter of our faith…”[vi] That group of people you are going to be in conflict with – whether your biological family, or the crazy family you selected as your church home – is the same group of people who have left us an example of how to work our way through conflict. They have shown us how to survive the race toward peace and reconciliation, reminding us that Jesus is the pioneer and perfecter who gets us there. We will not get there avoiding conflict. But we will get there together, holding hands when we disagree, loving each other when we say helpful but painful truths, and rejoicing when we push through to the side of reconciliation, renewal, and rebirth. Amen.

I am fortunate in that I do not have a long commute to work. But there have been a few times when I have needed to take the Long Island Railroad during morning rush hour. What I found fascinating about those trips is how people use their time on the train. Most people are on their phones, probably doing any number of things: scanning email, sending a few quick texts, checking Facebook, reading the news. Some people are reading the paper: catching up on the headlines, reading the sports page, or checking the financial reports. Others use their hour on the train to catch up on sleep. That one always scares me – how people sleep lightly enough not to miss their stop is beyond me. And I suppose there are a few people like me, who enjoy the people watching. But those are rarely the morning regulars – they got over that fascination a long time ago and chose some other way to spend their time.

We make choices every day: how we spend our money, what we will do with free evenings, what groups we want to be involved in, and with whom we want to spend our time. What we do while commuting is just one example of the myriad choices available to us on a given day. But over time, those choices begin to shape who we are. Those choices begin to define whether we are an avid reader, someone who is connected to the goings-on of the world, someone who is physically fit, or someone who is known for their volunteer work. What seem like inconsequential decisions, like regularly watching a TV show, a standing appointment with a friend for dinner, or joining a civic group, slowly begin to shape a life. Those little choices we make day in and day out shape who we are and what our life is really about. In my line of work, I go to a lot of funerals, and that is one of the consistent things I see: the choices a person makes over time informs who they are. So in a eulogy, someone is described a devoted mother, or an avid sailor, or an advocate for the poor.

Our gospel lesson today is all about how our choices matter.[i] The most obvious choice we see is the choice by the foolish bridesmaids not to bring extra oil. Actually, the foolish bridesmaids make two choices. First, they choose not to bring extra oil, perhaps assuming the groom will not be long. Second, once they realize they are out of oil and the others are not going to share, they choose to go buy more. Neither of their choices is illogical really. Based on the customs of the time, the maids should not have needed extra oil.[ii] Their choice not to bring extra oil is a perhaps presumptuous, but not scandalous. The second choice is reactionary. The wise bridesmaids tell them to go and they do – in the middle of the night, the foolish maids make an impetuous decision that ends up costing them greatly. The foolish maids’ choices create a world fraught with risk – where split-second decisions leave the maids with little footing in a world that is constantly throwing choices at them

But the foolish bridesmaids are not the only ones making choices in our parable today. The wise ones make choices too. When faced with the needs of the oil-less bridesmaids, the wise bridesmaids send the foolish ones away to get their own oil. They do not consider sharing their oil or allowing the foolish ones to stand with them. Quite frankly, they should not have to share. They have thoughtfully constructed a world in which careful planning and preparation pay off in great rewards. Their choices have lead to a world in which everyone fends for themselves, where pity is not necessary, and boundaries are clear and concise.

And of course, the bridegroom makes a choice too. When the foolish bridesmaids knock at the door, the groom has a choice: he can justifiably send them away since they were not considerate enough to be ready and waiting for him; or he can be forgiving and graciously allow them into the celebration. The choice of the groom to close the door leads to a world in which mistakes are severely punished and there are no second chances.

This parable is one of those parables that does not leave us feeling good about the world. In fact, the choices of the characters in the parable depict a world that is marked by rigidity, scarcity, and lacking in forgiveness. We know this world all too well. All we have to do is listen to the current debate in the United States about immigration. Whenever we debate the issue of what to do with illegal immigrants, the arguments are similarly marked by rigidity, scarcity, and a lack of forgiveness. We worry about the drain on our resources with illegal immigrants – the health care, education, and social services needed for them. We worry about the jobs they will be taking from legal citizens. And we worry about our capacity for compassion – I have heard many argue that we cannot save every child in the world by welcoming them here. All of those fears are valid. And so we draw boundaries, we put up limits, and we say no. We make choices that shape our experience as Americans. And like the bridesmaids with extra oil, our decisions could probably be labeled as wise.

Although that wisdom is usually praiseworthy, and is clearly praised in our lesson today, for some reason, that wisdom does not sit well with me this week. Instead, I have found myself wondering what other choices the three characters in this story could have made. [iii] The foolish bridesmaids could have simply chosen to stay. Sure, they would have had to risk being in the dark for a while, and leaning into the light of others. They may even have had to plead their case with the groom once he arrived. But at least they would have been there. They could have stayed. Staying would have been scary and made them vulnerable. But they could have chosen to stay. Meanwhile, the wise bridesmaids could have chosen to either share their oil, or stand side-by-side with the foolish ones, letting their light shine the way for both of them. Sure, they were within their right to refuse. They are the ones who thought ahead and did the right thing. But they could have chosen another way. They could have chosen to share their abundance with the foolish. The bridegroom had a choice too. The groom had every right to refuse entry to the foolish maids – based on what he knew, they were late and unprepared. He had no obligation to let in people to his celebration who do not care enough about him to be prepared to wait for him. But the groom could have chosen to let them in anyway. He could have chosen gracious hospitality, even to the undeserving maids.

I recently had a conversation with another parent about creating healthy eating habits for children. She was explaining to me a philosophy in which parents let children guide their own eating choices. So instead of serving children the healthy food first and then bringing out the dessert, the parent is to put everything out on the table and allow the child to serve themselves. The argument is that through experience, the child will eventually learn that loading up a plate with dessert leaves the child unsatisfied, if not sick. Over time, the child will learn what foods make her feel good, what portions she needs to feel full, and how to plan her plate accordingly. Truthfully the idea sounded crazy to me – like some hippy, permissive parenting that would lead to malnourished, unruly children and wasted healthy food. But then again, I tend to choose a world guided by structure and order imposed from an authority. This parent was suggesting a different kind of world guided by trust, that makes room for growth through mistakes, and that leads by example.

That is the funny thing about choices. Our choices shape our world. Most people read today’s gospel and think: Okay, the moral of the story is to choose preparedness and alertness and when Jesus returns, we will be ready. But instead, the moral of this story might be that the choices that we make shape our world – and our choices may not be as obvious as we think. So yes, we can choose to live lives with strict boundaries and rules, lives that are guarded and have limits, and lives that are grounded in consequences. We can also choose to live lives that are grounded in forgiveness, that make room for mistakes, and that make us uncomfortable, but also make room for joy. Sometimes those choices will be obvious: when we actively decide to forgive someone who has wronged us or when we purposefully decide to share our resources even though the other does not deserve our generosity. But sometimes the choices will not be so obvious: when we commit to a new ministry, even if we are not sure where that ministry will take us or what that ministry will demand of us; when we choose to give up some of our disposable income to support the work of this church, even if we are not sure we can spare the money; or when we give up some of our family’s outside commitments so that we can be more present in the life and work of the church. Those choices demand sacrifice, vulnerability, and work. But those choices might also be the choices that make someone say at our funeral, “He loved the Lord, he loved the church, and he boldly lived a life of trust and abundance. And look where his life led.” Amen.